


Enjoy the Ride

by trohmenace



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Peterick, brallon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4580157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trohmenace/pseuds/trohmenace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The AU where Pete and Patrick meet by working at their county fair together for a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjoy the Ride

Patrick's about sick of working the ferris wheel, and it's still only the first night.

He's tired of explaining that he "can't let a group of six all sit in one car because it would upset the balance of the ride" to antsy teenagers who care more about their selfies than their safety. In his mind, taking group pictures with the lights in the background is just as good as getting one from the ferris wheel - plus, without running the risk of dropping your phone. Then again, he's never really been a selfie guy, either, so maybe he wouldn't understand.

"Two tickets each, please," he says to a young couple, the repetitive sequence of the words becoming almost like a broken record. The boy takes his stash of tickets, tears off four, and hands them all to Patrick before the girl can even grab hers out of her pocket.

"Don't worry about it," the boy murmurs, sending a half smile to his girlfriend. _Well, that's one way to run out of tickets._ He drops their tickets into his bucket, which is nearly filled to the brim already. He puts a trip to the nearest trash can on his to-do list.

Patrick nods to them and opens the gate, pointing at the nearest car.

"You'll have the red one," he forces a smile onto his face, something he's getting scarily good at ever since he started this gig. "Enjoy the ride."

When the first night of the Cole County Fair is officially over at midnight, he's itching to get into his car, go home, and crash on his bed. Just the thought of hitting the sack sounds more and more comfortable by the second.

He dumps his bucket of tickets before locking the gates and shutting down the ride for the night. Most of the rides are being shut down, though the rows of game booths are still brightly lit as their workers clean them up.

He takes off his hat and untucks his shirt, sucking in the warm, humid air. It's not exactly pleasant, but better than the day was, at least. Plopping down into a bench, he ponders maybe snatching a corn dog for the road before he leaves.

"Hey, you!" The unfamiliar voice makes his head snap up, eyes wide and searching for the source of the voice. "Yeah, you."

The voice belongs to the man leaning on the counter of the dart-balloon game, whose head is cocked to one side as he smacks gum loudly. His short-sleeved uniform barely covers any of his tattoos - he's got his arms full of them. His hair is naturally dark, Patrick can tell, but it's been bleached blonde. Amber eyes challenge him, glittering with mischief. "What do you want?"

The blonde shrugs. "You seem stressed. Most of the newbies are, on their first night. Take it out on the balloons; it's on me."

"Tempting offer," Patrick says, rising from the bench and heading over to the counter. "Do I get a prize if I pop three?"

"Pop however many you want," the blonde says, reaching under the counter to grab the dart bin. "I can't promise you more than one prize, though."

"Damn," Patrick mutters, pretending to be disappointed. He aims, throws, hits the yellow balloon to Blondie's left. "And to think, I was hoping I could get the water gun _and_ the lion."

"For you? I might make an exception," Patrick blushes at that, but he hopes that the carnival lights play that off. He picks up another dart, throws, and it goes straight into the cardboard between balloons. "M'Pete. What's your name?"

"Patrick," he fiddles with the dart, twirling it around his fingers. "How long have you been working the fair?"

"About three years," Pete says, grabbing a rag to wipe down his counter. "It's a cute little job, even if it's only for a week. Nice to see the people in town come out to have fun."

Patrick shrugs, perching his elbows on the countertop. "It's a job, I guess. Still gotta pay off some college tuition so my loans aren't as bad next year. You know how it is."

"I dropped out of college my sophomore year. Couldn't stand it anymore," Pete snickers, shooting a smile at Patrick. "I was also kinda broke."

Patrick smirks, throwing the dart. He misses again, but only narrowly this time. "So what do you do?"

Pete shrugs, untucking his shirt. "Odd jobs here and there. Right now I work at a furniture store. Before that I worked in fast food. I'm in a band, off and on. At this very moment, I'm enjoying the last of my shift with you."

There's a loud _pop_ to end Pete's sentence as Patrick makes another balloon burst. Patrick yawns, raising his arms over his head to stretch. That corn dog won't be necessary - a full stomach will only make him more likely to fall asleep at the wheel than he already is. "Nice one, man. So, do you want the lion or the water gun?"

"Neither," Patrick says, raking a hand through his hair. "This was good enough. Thanks for letting me take out my stress on your booth."

"Nonsense," Pete says, standing on his tiptoes to reach the stuffed lion from the top shelf, which he then hands to Patrick. "Gotta have something to remember me by."

"Hey, we still have the rest of the week," Patrick reminds him, handing him the dart bin. "If things keep up like they did today, I might be stopping by pretty often to calm myself down."

"I wouldn't have a problem with that," Pete says, grinning. "It gets better, though. You'll come to like it. I promise."

"We'll see," Patrick says, but he can't shake the feeling that tomorrow will be better - at least with Pete's booth there for salvation. He holds the lion to his chest, looking back at the fairgrounds once more. "Thanks, Pete."

"Any time, dude."

When Patrick drops the lion into his passenger seat, he notices that it's a little dusty - probably from being kept in storage for so long. He doesn't really mind, though. In his mind, he names it Dusty, and Dusty is his companion as he makes his journey home.

...

After his second night ends, Patrick thinks about what Pete had said the previous night. He was right. It had gotten a little better today - or maybe that was just because it wasn't as hot.

All right, it's not just what Pete said that he's thinking about. It's Pete in general - his flirty nature, mischievous gaze, that damn smile. And then there are the questions - what is Pete like, where is he from, why is he here? It's frustrating, to say the least, but in a good way.

He heads over to Pete's booth again, almost without thinking about it. It's empty, but he can hear rustling coming from the back, where he assumes that the blonde is putting his supplies away. Patrick hops up on the counter to sit and wait for him. When Pete walks out from the storage area and finds him sitting there, his lips curl into a smile. "Well then. Look who came back for more."

"You were right," Patrick says, sliding over the counter. "It did get better today. Wasn't as humid. I didn't die inside as much."

Pete grins, picking up the last of the popped balloon remains. "What did I tell you? I'm always right."

"Uh-huh, sure," Patrick leans back against the wall, watching as Pete sorts through the darts. "So if this is gonna be a thing, do I get to know more about you? Or do I have to guess?"

Pete slides the dart bin under the counter before hopping on top of it to sit down. "Is this a game of twenty questions? I'm down for that. What do you want to know?"

A million questions fill Patrick's mind at once, but he settles on going through the simplest ones first. "Who are you? Basic description."

"Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third. 25 years old. Biracial male. Bisexual," Pete says, scooting closer to the wall that Patrick's leaning against. "You?"

"Patrick Stump. 20. The palest, whitest guy in the Midwest. Demisexual, panromantic," Patrick replies, processing the new information. Pete's not that much older than him, which is good. Still, he wasn't really expecting a five year age difference. "Where are you from?"

"As in my childhood? Chicago," Pete looks wistfully at the lights of the other booths, as if he's picturing the city skyline. "Though as of right now, I'm from a little bit of everywhere."

It's an interesting answer, but Patrick doesn't question it. Pete Wentz can be as mysterious as he wants if it means he gets to be the one to figure him out. "Really? I used to live in Wilmette. It's near Chicago."

Pete nods. "I've been there a few times. Some of my friends lived there. Cute town." He slides over the counter and extends a hand to Patrick, inviting him to follow. "Speaking of friends, come with me. There are some people I want you to meet."

Patrick takes his hand and somewhat-gracefully hops over the counter. "You have friends? That's surprising."

"Oh, Trick," Pete grins, spreading his arms out wide. "I have _lots_ of friends. Come on, let's go find Brendon and Dallon. They'll probably be at the funnel cake stand. That's where Dallon works."

Patrick nods and follows him across the fairgrounds. He hasn't worked here long enough to know the exact layout of the fair, but he knows enough to trust that Pete is leading him in the right direction.

A man that looks slightly younger than himself is perched on the counter of the funnel cake stand, his legs swinging as he munches on the snack. His dark hair is styled into a messy quiff, and he has big, dark eyes. The taller of the two is quietly humming behind him as he sweeps, messy brown hair fluttering in front of his eyes. _They're here, just like Pete said they would be._

The boy on the countertop sees him first and slides off to greet him. "You're the newbie, right? Patrick? Pete's little crush?"

Patrick attempts to hide the blush rising to his cheeks, but he knows it's no use. "Yeah, that's me. I guess."

Pete uses his shoulder as an armrest and leans against him. "Patrick and I are practically married already. We've known each other for two whole days."

"Impressive," He muses, smirking at the two of them. "I'm Brendon. I work the tilt-a-whirl. And that's Dallon. He makes funnel cakes."

"The best damn funnel cakes around, excuse you," Dallon says, coming to join them. "Really. They're good. Brendon can verify that. He eats about twenty every day."

"What if I only eat them because I love you?" Brendon teases, shooting him a challenging glance. Dallon bends down to quickly press a kiss to his dark hair.

"Well, I guess that would make you a good boyfriend, then," he muses, throwing an arm around Brendon's shoulders.

"They're dating," Pete explains, though it's kind of obvious by now.

"Thanks for the heads up. Definitely didn't catch that one."

Brendon snickers at that, wrapping an arm around Dallon's waist. "Maybe I eat twenty funnel cakes a day, but Pete can eat four corn dogs in under twenty minutes."

Pete grins as if it's his greatest achievement. "You still owe me twenty bucks, Dal."

Dallon scoffs. "I never agreed to that bet. You said, 'Dal, you dare me to eat four corn dogs?' I said, "Yeah," and then you said, "Bet me twenty dollars?" To which I said "No," and then you ate four corn dogs."

"He was drunk as fuck," Brendon recalls, smirking. "Bet you couldn't do it sober."

"I could definitely still do it sober," Pete argues, crossing his arms across his chest like a little kid.

"I'm not believing it," Patrick interjects, sending Pete a teasing glance. The blonde's trying not to smile, but he's failing.

"You're on, Patrick Stump. Get outta here. We're un-married."

"I believe the word you're looking for is 'divorced'," Dallon supplies.

Pete waves him off. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go home and get your sleep, Pattycakes. We've got a big day tomorrow - today? It's after midnight. Anyway, it's wristband night, which means that all the rides are free if the guests buy the wristband."

Patrick groans. "Of course. All right, I guess I'm gonna head home then. Nice to meet you two." He turns to Pete, his last thought directed at him in particular. "See you tomorrow?"

Pete smiles, running a hand through his hair. "You know it."

When Patrick falls asleep that night, he isn't cuddling Dusty. He really isn't.

...

Patrick is completely beat the third night. Wednesday is now his most hated day of the week, thanks to wristband night. If he thought the first two days were bad, he definitely wasn't prepared. He'd had to deal with a nonstop line from open until close, no break.

As he locks the gate, he sighs and drops his head against the cool metal. He's tired. So tired. But he's gotta say goodnight to Pete. It's becoming like a tradition or something.

So he picks himself up and waltzes down the line of booths until he reaches Pete's. The blonde is not cleaning up, but in fact resting his head on the countertop, his face buried in his arms. He may or may not be sleeping standing up. It brings a smirk to Patrick's face. Typical.

Patrick rests his own head beside it, on one of Pete's strong arms. He feels Pete flinch at the sudden touch, before relaxing again. "Hello, sunshine," Patrick muses, closing his eyes.

"Hello yourself," Pete's reply is muffled, and his voice is thick with sleep. "Fuck, man. Today really took it outta me. I should've known there would be so many people tonight."

"I didn't get a break," Patrick sighs, attempting not to fall asleep. "It was nonstop from start to finish."

"That sucks," Pete says, lifting his head to look at the younger of the duo, who is still resting. "At least I got a break." He thinks for a few seconds, before tapping Patrick's shoulder. "Hey, follow me. You're probably hungry."

"I'm already half asleep."

He leaps over the counter, settles next to Patrick's slumped form. "Come on, Trick. The food's on me. Well, actually it's on Joe, but this way you don't have to pay for it."

Patrick reluctantly picks himself up from the cold marble and shuffles behind Pete, eyes still half-closed. It's suddenly cold outside and he wants nothing more than a sweater or maybe a hug.

The man working at the nacho bar has long, curly hair tied back into a bun, and a friendly smile. "Hey, Pete."

Pete waves slightly, nudging Patrick to stand beside him. "Hey, Joe. This is my friend Patrick. He works the ferris wheel and he didn't get a break today."

Joe whistles, pulling a bowl out of his stack. "Tough luck, getting ferris wheel your first year. Here, let me grab you some nachos. They're on the house."

"You don't have to," Patrick protests, tugging at the end of his shirt. "Really. I'm fine."

"You are not," Pete argues, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You worked for seven hours straight in the heat without a break. I'm surprised that you didn't pass out."

Patrick only shrugs, but Joe nods. "Yeah, man. You need the fuel, or you're gonna fall asleep walking to your car. Let me make it and I'll bring it out to you. Pete, find him somewhere to sit."

Pete's arm falls from his shoulder to his waist as he's guided to a picnic table, and even though he's not entirely awake, he can still feel the sharp points of warmth where fingers meet his hip. His heartbeat picks up, and he prays to whatever God there is that Pete doesn't notice.

The taller man gently shows him to the bench, sitting down next to him. "There you go. You can sleep on me for a few minutes, if you want. I think Joe's making your nachos fresh."

Despite only knowing Pete for a handful of hours between these three days, Patrick feels comfortable enough to drop his head onto Pete's shoulder without protest. He's warm now, and besides, he's too tired to think straight. The faint smell of leather and aftershave drifts into his semi-consciousness, and as Pete's arm comes to rest around his waist again, he fights the urge to smile.

There's a creak as Joe drops onto the bench across from them, and suddenly the aroma of fresh nachos hits Patrick's nose. He lifts his head from Pete's shoulder, and he's suddenly more hungry than he's ever been.

Pete and Joe make small talk as he finishes his bowl. It's warm, just like Pete said it would be - beef and cheese and a hint of pepper. It's absolutely delicious. Joe might be the best cook at the fair, though he won't be mentioning that to Dallon any time soon.

"Thanks," he murmurs quietly, staring down at his empty bowl. He does feel better, but now he just wants to go home more than anything.

"Come on," Pete says, helping him to his feet. "I'll walk you to your car."

Patrick almost turns him down, but decides against it. After all, time spent with Pete Wentz is bound to be memorable, so why shouldn't he get more of it?

When he falls onto his bed, his arms subconsciously lock around Dusty before his eyes flutter shut.

...

On the fourth night, it's Brendon that comes to retrieve him, nearly exploding with enough energy to power all the lights on the fairgrounds. Patrick doesn't question it.

Continually babbling about how "tonight's gonna be the _best_ , just you wait 'Trick", Brendon grabs his hand and leads him across the park and down to the racetrack. A few spirals of smoke climb the warm night air from the other side of the bleachers, and by how excited Brendon is, Patrick thinks it has something to do with weed.

And he's right. When they arrive at their destination - the other side of the bleachers - Dallon's taking the biggest fucking hit Patrick's ever seen, which is probably the only thing keeping Brendon from diving into his arms.

He's tried weed before, a few times, but he's only ever gone into a bad place with his emotions when he does. Weed's just not for him, he's decided, and he's okay with that. Watching everyone else get shitfaced will be plenty entertaining for him. Besides, Pete's waving him over from the top row of the bleachers now.

Pete is clearly high when Patrick approaches him, though nowhere close to Dallon, Brendon, or even Joe (Pete's friend Andy has opted to stay out of the fun - he's straight edge, of course). It makes Patrick wonder if he's holding himself back.

"Hey Trick," Pete greets him, grinning. He opens his arms, attempting to hug him without standing up. Patrick blushes when he realizes this would require sitting in the blonde's lap, and instead sits down next to him, leaning into his shoulder. Pete wraps an arm around him and smiles some more at the sky, which makes Patrick's entire body fill with warmth.

"Hey Pete," Patrick says, looking up at the sky with him. Through the light pollution coming from the fairgrounds, he can faintly make out a couple of stars. It's nice tonight - not too hot, not too humid. It almost makes him want to stay here instead of going home.

"I love nights like this," Pete murmurs, grinning at the sky now, which makes Patrick's heart skip several beats. "Don't you, Trick?"

"Yeah," Patrick breathes, trying not to stare for too long. However, time doesn't seem to be working right. The only thing in clarity is him and Pete, and the rest of the world around them is spinning by in a blur. It's dizzying, sickening, so he doesn't look away. "I do too."

Pete kisses his forehead, and his breath hitches in his chest. He's sure that he's probably a blushing mess by now. A tornado could whip through the area and leave the entire carnival in a mess of rubble, and Patrick still wouldn't notice. The only thing he can focus on is where Pete's lips had been moments before, and the warmth that still lingers. "Good. I knew you would."

And before Patrick can say anything about that, Pete smooths his hair into place, and he kind of forgets how to talk.

The silence is comfortable, not awkward. All he can hear is the chatter from the boys in the background and Pete's steady breathing. Despite the monster butterflies making a ruckus in his stomach, he feels safe here. He feels cared about, which is the one thing he's always wanted, at every point in his life, but only barely managed to grasp. Patrick's holding on tightly to that now, and he's not about to let it go.

He's debating laying his head on Pete's shoulder, when a loud laugh from Joe breaks him out of his thoughts.

"Pete, get your ass down here and help Brendon," Joe can't keep the snicker out of his voice, though he's trying (and failing) to present a straight face.

At being beckoned, Pete lifts himself off the top row of the bleachers and hops down to the bottom, Patrick in tow. Brendon's somehow managed to fall into the crack between the bleachers and the ground - which would normally be somewhat concerning, but right now it's just funny to watch the dark-haired boy's babbling become even more high-pitched and frantic.

Pete grabs one of Brendon's hands, Andy grabs the other, and together they both heave Brendon out from between the bleachers and into his boyfriend's waiting arms. Dallon grins and kisses his cheek.

"Brendon, please try not to do that again. You could actually fall through and get hurt," Andy scolds, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Brendon grins, smacks a sloppy kiss on Andy's nose, and ruffles his short red hair. "I'm sorry, Mother Andy. Thank you for helping me out of there, my hero. How will I ever be able to make it up to you?"

"Just shut up," Andy mutters, trying to hide the vicious blush now covering his face. He turns and goes to sit down by Joe, who is now cackling at the whole situation.

"Weed is tight," Brendon muses, burying his face into Dallon's shoulder. The tall man's face looks like it could split from the width of his smile, and he kisses the top of Brendon's head before resting his own head there.

Patrick feels a bit of jealousy tug at his heartstrings. He wants to love and be loved like that. The emotion is raw, scratching at his chest, and he decides to return to Pete to get the warm feeling back.

Pete welcomes him back with open arms, an offer which Patrick graciously accepts. If Pete wants to cuddle with him, at least for a while, he won't say no to that.

When Patrick's head hits his pillow that night, he can't stop thinking about what it would be like to be in Pete's arms full-time. He thinks he would like it. A lot.

He hugs Dusty and tries to make the longing go away.

...

On the fifth night, Pete is actually the one to show up to Patrick's spot on the fairgrounds for once. He's bouncing on his heels, incredibly energetic for someone who just worked for seven hours. "Trick. I have an idea."

Apparently, Pete's idea includes sneaking onto the ferris wheel together, with a little help from Joe. When Patrick asks why, he simply responds, "because it would be fun, right?" And when Pete smiles like that, the one where his eyes crinkle and his laugh is sincere, Patrick knows he can't say no.

When Joe agrees to run the ride for them, he gets into his part, leaning against the gate and blowing light blue bubbles with his gum. He cocks his head to one side and smirks. "You boys got tickets?"

Patrick rolls his eyes and pushes past him, heading to the nearest car. "Yeah, yeah. Let's just get this plan going. I want to go home and sleep."

"And to think, I thought this would be romantic," Pete teases, sliding into the car after him and shutting the door.

"You? Romantic? Nice try, Wentz." There's a sudden shift as the ferris wheel hums to life, and then they're slowly lifted into the sky.

Pete's eyes light up and he scoots closer to the edge, looking out at all of the rides and booths down below. It's not nearly as fascinating to Patrick, but the view is nice. Joe stops the wheel when they're at the top, so he has plenty of time to observe the scenery.

The lights of the carnival rides are still on, flickering through colors every few seconds. The rows of game booths create a brightly lit path down the middle, glowing golden and white. The racetrack bleachers glitter with the reflection of the moon off in the distance. It's breathtaking, in a way. It's the magic of summer carnival - it's there for a moment, and in the blink of an eye, it's gone again.

He doesn't want Pete to be gone like the rest of it, once this is over.

It's weird to think that even though he's been working it this whole time, he's never actually ridden the ferris wheel. Now, watching the bright, colorful lights dance across Pete sitting beside him, he wonders why he hasn't done this a long time ago.

He understands the teenagers now, in some way, seeing Pete. He can't tear his eyes away. Blue and pink lights illuminate his features, bathe him in soft light. The cool breeze ruffles his fair hair, which is already messy from a day's work. Patrick wants to take a picture, to permanently capture how beautiful he is right now, but he also knows that it would ruin the moment.

"Look at it," Pete murmurs, staring out over the fairgrounds. "All of it."

"It's beautiful," Patrick replies, but he's not sure if he's talking about the lights or Pete.

"It almost seems magical, from up here. Like if I stay here forever, I can forget about everything. Maybe I'd fade away, just like this place does." He's musing now, simply watching the flickering of the lights. It strikes a chord in Patrick's heart, one that makes his stomach drop all the way to the ground.

"I wouldn't want you to fade away," he says quietly, brushing his hand over Pete's. "You've still gotta prove your bet to me. I've never seen someone eat four corn dogs in twenty minutes."

Pete turns and smiles at him. It almost doesn't seem real, like the rest of the fair. It seems like it could blink off of his face at any time, but it's there. And it stays there. "Don't knock it 'til you've seen it, Trick."

"Wasn't planning on it."

Pete shifts their hands, smoothly slides their fingers together until they're intertwined. Patrick's heart picks up a quicker rhythm, but he's not scared. Pete's here, and for some odd reason the blonde is more of a comfort than a danger. He leans their foreheads against each other, bumping Patrick's nose with his own, which makes the younger's breath hitch in his chest.

When Pete leans in to kiss him, Patrick smells smoke from the racetrack, cotton candy, and just a hint of alcohol. All of those aromas would usually make him sick, especially put together like this. It's his new favorite smell.

His lips are rough and chapped, and Patrick's sure his aren't much better, but it's still the best kiss he's ever had. Pete's hand comes up to cup his cheek, rubbing his thumb over his cheekbone. He's absolutely intoxicated. Just as Patrick's sure he's so far gone that he'll never be able to come back, the jolt of the ferris wheel moving tears them apart.

"Yo, lovebirds," Joe calls, the smirk on his face visible even from so high up. Patrick's cheeks go crimson, and he nervously fiddles with his glasses. Pete just laughs. "I don't mean to interrupt, but I'd like to go home, too."

"Sorry, Joe!" Pete calls back, fighting a grin and failing. "Take us down."

"Lovebirds?" Patrick raises an eyebrow, as if to say _so we are together?_

"Of course," Pete says, kissing his forehead. "Don't tell me you didn't see it coming."

Something in Patrick's brain clicks, and suddenly he feels like he is soaring. It's not the ferris wheel slowly creeping back toward the ground, either.

Dusty is forgotten that night when he goes to bed. Instead, he sleeps with his face buried in his work shirt, Pete's smell curling around him.

...

On the sixth night, when Patrick eagerly approaches Pete's booth, the blonde has a mischievous grin crossing his face. This makes Patrick's stomach flip with both excitement and anxiety.

Pete takes his hand and kisses it, lifts his eyes to gaze into Patrick's, and he feels the blush spread through his cheeks. Upon seeing this, Pete only smiles and pulls him into the booth.

"Hello, beautiful," Pete murmurs, kissing the corner of his mouth. _Is this real? Is this actually happening?_

"Hello," Patrick breathes back. And then he doesn't have time to get anything else out because then Pete is kissing him, soft and slow, and he thinks he might be dying just a little.

Pete latches onto his waist with one hand, runs the other hand through his hair. It feels so unreal that Patrick almost breaks the kiss to pinch himself, but decides against it. If this is a dream, it definitely belongs in his Top 10 Favorites.

Pete rests their foreheads together, breathing hot and shallow. "Come with me."

Patrick lets Pete grab his hip and maneuver them back toward the storage room, leaning in for another kiss. Pete graciously accepts, swiping his tongue over Patrick's bottom lip. Once in the storage room, the younger feels the kiss deepen further, raising both of his arms to rest on Pete's shoulders and linking his hands at the back of his neck.

It's dark in the tiny storage area, and all he can make out with his eyes is Pete's dark silhouette lining up with his own. His body, however, is lighting up with warmth at every point of contact they share. Pete's hands on his hips press his back against the shelves that line the wall, and he can feel a warm chest come to rest against his own. And yeah, that's definitely a warm pair of lips sliding over his jawline.

The blonde presses gentle kisses all the way down his neck before sliding his hands up his shirt. He works his mouth down to Patrick's collarbone, playfully nipping at skin. It makes every last bit of air flee from Patrick's lungs, and anxiety fills the pit of his stomach. It's good, but it's not for now. He'll want this soon enough, but he doesn't want this _now_.

He manages to cough out a sentence through his panic. "Fuck. Wait, Pete, wait."

Pete head snaps up, his hands retreating to Patrick's waist once again. "What is it? Did I do something wrong?"

Patrick shakes his head. "No, you're great. That's...that's just the problem. You're great, and I think I want to get to know you better before...this."

Pete nods, smoothing Patrick's shirt back into place before nearly smacking himself in the face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Patrick doesn't want Pete to beat himself up, so he reaches out and finds his fingers, traces them with his own. "It's okay. I just...I really like taking things slow with people. Being demi and everything. It's different than what you must feel."

Pete gently pulls him into a hug, and Patrick rests his head on his shoulder with a sigh. "Shit. I'm sorry. I should've gone slower with you."

"It's okay," Patrick reassures him, "you're fine. I just get really nervous when I haven't known someone for a while before...you know."

Pete kisses the top of his head, drawing him in even closer. "We'll take this however fast or slow you want. I...I just want you to be comfortable. I don't ever want you to feel scared."

This is a completely different Pete than he's seen at the racetrack, or even last night. He's unsure of himself now, stumbling over his words. It's a completely new side to him, which doesn't really make sense, unless - oh. A lightbulb turns on in his brain, because he understands now.

"Pete, do you love me?"

The blonde pulls back suddenly, eyeing him warily. "What? I - "

"I mean, could you, in the future? Would I be a real boyfriend to you?" Patrick supplies, and he watches as Pete's shoulders visibly relax.

He rubs the back of his neck and lets a nervous chuckle escape his lips. "Well, uh, yeah. I think so."

Patrick's smile is genuine when he responds. "I think I could, too."

Pete leans into him again and hums into his shoulder, some kind of melody that sounds somewhat like "I Miss You" by Blink-182, so that's what Patrick quietly begins to sing. They sway together until he finishes the song, and then fall to sit on the cold floor together. It's then that Pete looks up at him like he's hung the stars in the sky.

"You're my golden ticket," Pete murmurs, running his thumb over Patrick's bottom lip.

"What do you mean?" Patrick asks, pulling himself forward so that he's partially in Pete's lap.

"Your voice is beautiful," Pete smiles at him, and hushes him before he can argue. "Would you sing for me?"

"Uh, okay," Patrick agrees, resting his head back against the wall. "What do you want me to sing?"

"Anything," Pete whispers, laying his head on Patrick's chest.

He decides to sing that one Ne-Yo song he likes, "So Sick". Even though the lyrics don't really fit the moment, he can still sing it softly enough so that he doesn't move Pete's head too much from its resting place. When he's finished, Pete pulls him forward and kisses him gently.

"Trick, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Patrick murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the side of Pete's neck.

"Would you sing in a band for me? Maybe tomorrow? At the Fair's End concert?"

Patrick's blood freezes and his stomach fills with anxiety. Him, fronting a band? In front of a live audience with hundreds of people? He lifts his head to meet Pete's gaze. "Well, uh,"

Pete can sense his discomfort and starts to ramble in response. "I have this band called Fall Out Boy and me and Joe and Andy are in it and we have a lot of good ideas except we kinda suck because I suck at singing but you're really good at singing and you'd only have to learn like two original songs because we do mostly covers for this crowd and I really like you so um maybe what do you say?"

It's a lot to take in at once. "I'd have to learn two songs? By tomorrow?"

Pete's eyes widen with happiness. "So that's a yes?"

Patrick sighs, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "I...I, uh. I guess. Yeah, I'll do it."

Pete lets out a loud whoop and wraps his arms tightly around the smaller of the two. "Thank you so much Trick, really. I'm sorry that it's so short notice, but you'll love it, I promise."

That night, he falls asleep in Pete's arms in the small storage room. When he wakes up, if his back is aching, he isn't complaining. Pete takes him out to breakfast, and that's worth a little bit of discomfort.

...

On the seventh night, Patrick is anxiously watching his friends perform from backstage, mind racing. He only has about twenty minutes to prepare himself. They've practiced all day to get the songs down perfectly, but he's not sure that anything could have adequately prepared him for the way this would feel.

He watches Brendon and Dallon's band perform as his stomach repeatedly flips. How did he ever think he could do this? Peering out from behind the curtains, he knows he'd never be able to put on as good of a performance as Brendon, who is waltzing around the stage like he owns the place. He's killing it out there, and Patrick will be gripping the mic stand like a lifeline when he goes out.

Strong arms encircle him from behind, and he relaxes into them. "Hey," Pete whispers into his ear, nuzzling his face into Patrick's shoulder. "What are you thinking about, Trick?"

"Everything," Patrick simply responds, turning around to face the blonde. "Pete, what if I can't do this? What if I mess up and ruin the performance for all of you?"

"You can do this," Pete reassures him, squeezing his shoulders. "I know you can. Just look at me. Pretend you're only singing to me, like you were last night."

Patrick laughs nervously. "So you just want me to stare at you the entire time?"

Pete winks. "I'll have to be holding myself back from doing the same to you."

Patrick feels his face begin to heat up, but it's worth it when Pete chuckles and scoops him up into his arms. "Shut up, Pete."

"You're still my golden ticket," he murmurs, "no matter what happens tonight. Though I know you'll do great."

"I'm going to throw up," Andy announces upon entering the room. "You two are too sweet that it's practically making my stomach turn."

"Or it could be that tofu shit you eat," Pete reminds him, detaching from the shorter man. "That stuff is nasty."

Andy crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. "Being a vegan is my choice, not yours, Peter. And for the record, I quite enjoy eating tofu dogs. The knowledge that I am saving an animal while staying healthy is quite satisfying to me."

"Uh-huh, sure. You keep telling yourself that so you don't puke in front of us," Pete teases, flicking Andy's cheek.

"Be nice to the kitten," Joe says, joining them backstage. "He's just a harmless butterfly and we should respect his choice to only eat salad for the rest of his life."

"Andy could kick your ass, Joe," Pete reminds him.

"But he won't," Joe counters, grabbing the redhead in a rough hug. "Andy loves me. We've been dating for eighty-three years. Just waiting for him to pop the question."

"Oh shut _up_ ," Andy sighs, letting himself be thrown around by the curly-headed man.

Pete decides to join in on this tussle, partially leaping onto Joe's back. This throws Joe off balance, which sends him careening into Andy, which ends with the three of them in a pile on the floor, still playfully shoving at each other.

"You ass," Andy mutters, grabbing at Pete's leg. Pete directs a well-placed blow at the redhead's arm, but it doesn't do anything. Andy is practically made of rock, and Pete's a wet noodle compared to him. "Oh, you'll be sorry for that."

Patrick watches this all go down with a smile. If this is what it could be like being in the band - staying with Pete and making two new best friends - maybe he could sing for them. Not just once, but for a while.

Brendon bounds backstage, sweat dripping from his hair. "Hey, we've got one more song, and then you guys are on. Are you ready?"

Pete looks to Patrick, making sure he's all right to continue. He nods at Brendon. "As ready as we'll ever be."

The three men on the floor compose themselves enough to grab their instruments. Joe pats Patrick on the head. "You got this, man. And we've got you."

"Inspiring," Andy says, ruffling Patrick's hair. "But really, you can count on us. We can't thank you enough for doing this, so we'll help you out as much as we can."

Pete is the last one to approach him. He grabs Patrick's hand and squeezes it, smiling to reassure him. "You're gonna own it. Just wait until they hear your voice."

The blonde kisses him on the cheek, and then their time is up. Brendon is ushering them on stage. It's now or never.

"Hey everybody," Pete laughs into his mic, eyes bright and shining, suddenly filled with energy. The crowd enthusiastically cheers back at him, which puts that beautiful smile on his face. "You might know us already, but if you don't, we're Fall Out Boy. This is our new frontman, Patrick. He's gonna sing for you tonight and he's a lot better than me, I promise."

The crowd laughs, and Patrick's stomach begins to put itself at ease. "Maybe. We'll find out. I'm kind of new at this."

Pete sends a sweet smile at him, and it makes his chest fill and hold. "Oh, trust me. You'll like him."

Joe groans from the other side of the stage and rolls his eyes. "If you two are done flirting now, I think we have a show to put on."

A small blush tinges Pete's cheeks, but he doesn't let it effect his stage presence. The reflection of the stage lights glitter in his eyes, and maybe Patrick wants to feel like this forever. "Anyway, this song is called 'Dance Dance' and it's one we wrote ourselves. I want to see you all on your feet!"

**Author's Note:**

> (If you haven't heard Patrick's cover of "So Sick" you need to.)


End file.
